Consequences
by Tseer
Summary: A hunter finds himself in situations he'd rather not be in.
1. Chapter 1

His steps were muted on the plush carpet of rainforest debris littering the moist earth, the troll stooped low enough to pass beneath the fronds of amazonian plants without disturbing them. The greenery opened into an outcropping of ancient ruins nearly overrun by the jungles grasp, vines digging their hungry appendages into the stacked stone and desecrating a structure that had once been the pride of the old world. He cocked his head to the side delicately to shift his gaze, a green figure shambling into view not far away. A gurubashi troll, the enemy of his tribe. There was no malevolence in the hunters gaze though as he lifted his bow and sighted on the other. That had died off long ago when his thirst for vengeance had been quelled.

They had taken his wife. He had taken out a small village in return. Fair's fair.

Violence knew no end it seemed, and news had traveled of another raid on a small outpost in Stranglethorn that his tribesman had tried to reconstruct once more. He owed his grieving friend that had lost his last son in that raid a favor or two.

He let an arrow fly, the bowstring emanating a deep, resonating thump as he released the tension. The victim jerked stiffly, turning towards the underbrush and catching sight of the blue-skinned brethren charged towards him. Safoo didn't move as the troll ran in a mad dash before suddenly buckling and falling dead mere feet from where he had hidden himself, the perfect hole where his arrow had exited the corpses back beginning to tinge the leather jerkin in a little red dot. Lost-count-after-fifty down, sundown to go. He lifted his gaze to the canopied sky, trying to gauge the time of the day, but it proved difficult. The heavy air and even dimmer light foretold of drenching rains.

As if on cue the rain began to cascade, the roof of thick leaves stopping the downpour for a few seconds before the heavy drops began to fall on the younger brush beneath. Safoo frowned, not minding the rain, but it was dangerous to snipe in; it would mask the sound of anyone approaching him from behind. The trolls weren't the problem, the humans and their allies were. While he could easily deal with two or three, they had seemed to be grouping in larger numbers lately. There had been a shortage of ivory supply and a clever goblin had noticed that the long tusks of the gurubashi trolls had similar, almost indistinguishable properties in comparison. He gagged silently at the notion, sympathetic to the tribe in that sense. His own long, curving tusks were a sense of pride to the Darkspear hunter.

Sparing a glance around the area to make sure the coast was clear he slid out of the brush, unfurling from his crouched position to his full height of over seven feet to stretch cramped muscles. He lifted his stormy grey eyes to the verdant roof of the rainforest before closing them and let the water wash over his bare face, the long azure tresses that fell beyond his shoulder blades soaked in a matter of seconds. The rain helped alleviate the sweltering heat of the jungle at least, and washed off the sweat that had glossed his lean form, relaxing the tension in his body.

But something was wrong. He opened his eyes, looking around him warily before turning a quarter way to catch a glimpse behind him before white light blinded his vision and pain exploded on the back of his skull. He stumbled forward, trying to recover but a knee slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him down to his knees. Gasping in surprise he looked up to catch sight of a night elf rogue looming over him, the males silvery eyes narrowed and a vicious smile twisting his lips as his foot swung up and impacted the bottom of the trolls jaw to send him sprawling onto his back. Someone kicked his arm holding his bow and he heard the crack of his wrist breaking under the momentum, but he didn't get a chance to see a face, the mob proceeding to beat him with weapons, punches and kicks until he was sure every bone in his body was broken. When he had fallen silent and stopped trying to protect his brutalized frame they stopped, a shadow passing over his blurred vision. He felt a foot plant against the side of his face and press his skull into the ground, a set of hands wrapping around one of his tusks and rip it out.

He lost consciousness as he felt them grab the other, their laughter following him into the darkness.

* * *

Ineega waited there for him patiently, her long, muscular arms folded in front of her robe neatly at the doorway to eternity, and he smiled in response to her own.

"It's not time yet, you have to come back."

Safoo blinked at his wife. That had not been her voice. It was too soft, too feminine for the strong female he had married so long ago. She smiled even wider, her coal eyes glittering with amusement. He felt himself being pulled away and he reached out in a panic, wanting to be with her.

"Wait! Ineega! Don't leave me!"

Safoo tried to open his eyes but couldn't; they were swollen shut. He let out a strangled groan as pain overwhelmed his senses, only half aware of slender fingers holding the back of his head up gently, a bowl filled with bitter-tasting liquids pressed to his lips.

"Rest, troll! You're safe, rest..."

He took a gulp, half choking on the medicine as he was fed it, trying to turn to see the owner of the voice but the agony any movement, let alone breathing caused was too much, and he fell back into darkness once more. This time, Ineega wasn't there.

* * *

On the edge of consciousness, Safoo heard the gentle hum. A rise that fell into a lower note, cascading back up and then holding a single sweet key before trailing off. The troll roused himself at the soft song, managing to crack his eyes open one at a time. The pain was still there though it was dulled, and as he came to his senses further he began an internal scan to assess the damage. Most of the broken or dislocated bones had naturally mended themselves, but the left side of his ribcage sent a razor sharp pang through his body when he took a breath, though it was tolerable.

He moved an arm testingly, pushing himself up slowly onto his side and looking around woozily. Apparently whoever had saved him knew of a local plant that could mute pain but would make its user groggy. The soft sound of rushing water was coming in the same direction as the beautiful voice he assumed belong to one of his saviors. They had moved him to an under cropping of rock that had been gouged out by a waterfall long dried up, a small fire crackling near to keep him to keep insects at bay and the hardness of the earth softened by cut tree fronds beneath his frame. He rose after flexing every limb carefully to make sure nothing was still broken to follow the voice, forcing his mind to focus so that dragged footsteps suddenly became a silent prowl.

A small game trail led to the nearby stream and he broke off of the path to take the security of the bush, slipping through it to the waters edge. A human girl was in the deepest portion of a pool a meager waterfall had created, her bare back turned to him as she ran a pounded piece of root over an outstretched arm. She turned her head to follow the path the suds the plant made with her gaze, revealing a delicately structured face with full lips and high cheekbones that led up to almond shaped eyes and tapered ears. Taking a small breath she began to hum again, pulling the wet locks of gray that fell even longer than the trolls own over a shoulder so that she could clean her neck. Safoo cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the surroundings for animals, humans, anything.

She was alone. So it had been just her then.

He bit his lower lip, shocked for a moment when his mouth twisted awkwardly, unused to not having tusks in the way. Reaching up he touched the corners of his mouth, wincing at the tenderness his prods and pokes discovered.

The female submerged before rising again, the soft splash and sound of dripping water pulling his gaze unintentionally back to her. In the small rays of sunlight that had pierced through the roof of greenery the droplets crystalized, shimmering on her bare skin as they traveled down her frame with every movement. He was surprised to see scars marring what could've been a sculpture in the gardens of blood elf palaces.

"Are you just going to just stand there and stare, troll? Or are you going to come let me bathe you?"

Safoo blinked in surprise that she had been aware of his presence, watching as the snowy veil of lashes rose to reveal crimson eyes that caught in the light reflecting off the disturbed water and burned with the life of molten flame. He felt his cheeks flush as he rose awkwardly out of the underbrush, reaching up to scratch at his ear nervously though the pain of moving his arm created on his ribs made him wince. He wasn't sure what to say, with so many questions about her and what had happened, the best option for the time being was silence.

Her hand rose from beneath the water line, fingers unfurling before curving into themselves, beckoning him over as she turned to face him unabashed. Taking a staggered step forward he tried to force himself not to look at her hourglass figure, her high breasts tight from the cold water transparently veiled by her wet hair. Leaving his loincloth on he stepped into the water, gaze rising to lock onto her peculiar eyes.

The world spun and he nearly toppled over, the effects of the drugs she had fed him suddenly roaring back into power, numbing his pain and mind. His eyes glazed over and he shambled over to her, swaying slightly as he felt her cool hands slip across his skin, followed by the rough texture of the roots she had been using as soap. His head drooped, letting her manipulate his limbs complacently even when she pushed him down so that he was crouching neck-deep in the pool. She moved between his legs, her fingers combing through his azure tresses gently, and he leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against the ridge line beneath her breastbone.

"You a succubus?" He finally mumbled, the words garbled with his lips used to tusks. She paused, exhaling an amused breath as she cupped her hands in the water, lifting them and letting it trickle into his hair.

"Somewhere in my heritage I think there was an Incubus involved. Perhaps he was even my sire. It is something I will never know for certain," she replied, her voice a rich, throaty sound and her accent on the orcish words leaving him wanting to hear it even more. When he realized she wasn't going to give any other explanation he tried to drudge up another question, but it was hard to think through the haze.

"Why you be helpin me?"

"Ah," she sighed, lifting another handful of water up to soak his hair with. "I guess I've taken to the thought of karma lately."

The sorrow in her voice made him curious, but he lost all trail of thought as she raked her nails gently against his scalp, using the last of the root to wash his hair with. He dipped below the water when she pressed on his shoulders, lost for a moment in the feel of weightlessness before resurfacing. Wiping the water out of his eyes he looked back to her, catching a glimpse of sadness before she leaned down, brushing her lips against his.

It was a foreign sensation, and it caught him off guard until he realized her mouth felt like warm silk. So often he had seen couples kiss, but with his tusks, that had been all but impossible. Now he could understand why so many seemed to enjoy it. He slid his massive hands around the backs of her legs and up over the swell of her rump, squeezing to feel the pliant flesh and steely muscles beneath. Somewhere in the back of his mind an alarm was screaming at how wrong this was, but it had been years of solitude since Ineega's passing. Forcing his mind to concentrate he pulled away from her delectable mouth, keeping his eyes closed.

"A ghost, then."

"Fitting," she whispered back, and he looked up when the water splashed at her departure. He let the current undulate him for a moment before rising, following the naked woman back to the camp, keeping his gaze away from hers when she glanced over her shoulder at him. The intoxicating sound of her laughter taunted him, but he had already felt the power of her attention and did not want risk it again.

"Do you think I require eye contact?" She finally asked when he sat opposite the fire from her.

"I don' know."

In the silence he felt her response; an unconscious stirring in his lower belly that he finally became aware of as blood began pumping into his member. He shifted uneasily, covering the growing length with his hands and sidling further away from her, though she made no move to stand.

"Why do you fight it so? She is long dead, but more importantly you know she would want to see you happy."

"How you know 'bout her?"

"You called me your wife in your fever," she responded gently, and he finally looked back at her. Her gaze was distant, as if she was reliving her own memories before the pupils contracted, focusing on him once more. "Sometimes I think life is a dream, and at the end in death is when we wake up."

"Most religions be believin' someting down de sorts of dose lines," he mumbled back, keeping himself covered.

"I am not talking about religion, I'm talking about what I feel. Not what someone else says I should."

The conversation was too deep for his spinning head to deal with, it was also off-subject from any of the dozens of questions he was wanting to ask. "Why you out here alone."

It was a long time before she responded, the weight of her gaze unsettling to him. Her eyes were so much like his races, yet none he remembered to be that vibrant.

"I came here to die," she murmured finally, offering the barest hints of a smile at his surprise.

"You sick?"

"No, I'm being hunted, and he is close to finding me."

The calmness in her voice shocked him into silence. What could one say to such a conviction? Sorry? Flee? I'll protect you? He owed this strange woman his life, that much was certain. When he finally opened his mouth to tell her of this realization she shook her head with that same, somber smile.

"I trust your skills, Hunter. But I've seen these daggers. I did not save your life so that you could toss it away for a woman who's name you don't even know."

"Tell me your name."

"It is inconsequential. Very few know of me, let alone know me. History will forget this life quickly."

"Then tell me your story."

The woman studied him, lips pursed faintly before she caught her lower tier between perfectly straight rows of white teeth in a gesture of nervousness. Safoo instantly knew she had dark, dark secrets. Ones perhaps he really didn't want to know of after all.

"A last confession, of the sorts?"

Safoo shrugged helplessly, and she exhaled a frail laugh.

"Then listen, troll. That will be the payment for saving your life."


	2. Chapter 2

She had fallen into silence, and it seemed the world had fallen with her.  
Safoo waited beyond a length of patience before becoming aware of their surroundings again. The shivering music of the insects, the far calls of nocturnal creatures. Its as if her silence had pulled him in and he had completely forgotten anything else but it.  
Yet still he didn't move, afraid to break the emptiness and afraid of it continuing. Perhaps she was a ghost, to be able to pull him along like a leaf in a spring river. Or perhaps she was just plumb nuts.  
Suddenly she roused slightly, the movement graceful, entrancing as her lips parted and she took in a measured breath.  
"I'm sorry, you must think me mad." "N-no," Safoo mumbled, shying his gaze away momentarily in guilt. She didn't seem to notice the gesture.  
"Quite often I wondered why so many heroes went quietly to their deaths. Men that could've been legend, could've left legacies as great as Malfurion, or tragic as Illidan. I think now, that they had wrapped their stories so deeply in their hearts they believed no one else would comprehend. It is a strange and exposing thing, a insurmountable task like unto trying to explain to someone who's been blind their whole life what color is."  
Her gaze lifted from the nothingness it had been pinned on, the black pupils a stark contrast against the red surrounding them. Firelight played in their depths, even though their fire had burned down to smoldering embers.  
"It is the most beautiful flower in the meadow that no one will see. That is what our life is."

* * *

I've had many names.  
Guttershyte, Abomination, Trash, Imbecile, Murderer, Assassin, but the one that has lasted the longest has been Whore. There was a finite moment I had given myself the name Sei, but that had been taken from me at the cost of nearly my life.  
A child left on the doorstep of a orphanage, a smattering of foster families, each as dark as the next until the streets became a sanctuary and the other children spokes on the wheel of my isolated world, though always I was even lower than they. Fiercely proud of their human blood. Could you blame them? There was nothing else for them to be proud of.  
It is all a blur, the early years. Even the man who managed to catch me as the other children fled the trash bins like a flock of pigeons is cloaked in faded memory. I remember well though, the sharp smell of alcohol on his breath as he dragged me by the hair to the back door of a brothel.  
I was his daughter, he needed to pay off debts. Two silver for my baby girl.  
How old was I?  
Eight.  
Eight?  
Hard to keep track with ten mouths to feed. Maybe five then.  
The woman eyed me coldly as if I was a rotten filet at the fishmonger stall. She motioned to the drunk who transferred ownership of my scalp into her talons, the other hand plunging under the burlap sack someone had dressed me in. Her fingers were ice as they stabbed mercilessly between my legs with efficient professionalism.  
I was a street rat, and my maidenhead was already gone. I was about as useful as a dried up well. One copper.  
I was one of his four daughters, how dare her. Ten.  
Did he sire all his spawn off a troll? Regardless of my obvious breed, I was used goods. Two.  
Brothels needed servants, I knew how to wash clothes and be unob.. unobtru-..I knew how to stay out of the way. Five.  
The woman curled her upper lip in contempt, sucking in a breath of air through the gap of a missing front tooth as she turned her disdain on me.  
In the end, I was worth three copper. The harpy of a woman figured out quickly I did not actually know how to do laundry. Or wash dishes, or even how to use the chamber pot for my needs. After my first beating for having not only been a waste of three copper but had also squatted in the pantry I was put in charge of emptying and cleaning every chamber pot in the brothel, and learned how to do it without being seen or heard at the expense of my first broken bone.  
And so I lived invisible for four winters until he arrived.

* * *

In that time I learned many things that cemented in my mind why it was so very important to remain unknown to all. A whore's life was brutal. Beatings by clients to the point of death was not uncommon. So was the agony of abortions in the cell the women were locked up in until they either passed the child by help of herbs, or clubs. The ones who contracted diseases that left them smelling foul would vanish to be replaced by fresh recruits. It was not a life I would ever want.  
In the mid mornings when the house was still I would creep and clean and steal my meal from the leftovers on the plates I would take to the kitchen.  
It was the best time of the day. The whores were in fitful or blissfully dead sleep, the clients gone, the silence almost peaceful. It was my time to be able to sneak into the rooms to retrieve the pots without making a sound. A skill I had perfected.  
Imagine my surprise then, when he heard me.  
"Little white mouse, sneaking around."  
His voice made me jump. The pot slipped in my hands in my fright but I managed to recover it, not caring I had sloshed brown colored urine down the front of my tatty shirt. That crisis averted my focus traveled back to the guest.  
The shuttered window behind him let in pin pricks of light, their rays beams in the dust that floated in the air. Only his silhouette was visible, his features masked in shadow.  
"Come closer, little mouse. Let me look at you."  
I took a timid step forward, blinking when the sunbeams blinded me as I passed through them. Stopping a safe distance away I kept the pot crushed to my chest, my heart a crazed off-beat tune in my ears.  
"Are you an acolyte?"  
Not knowing that word, I shook my head.  
"Closer, little mouse. Closer."  
My mouth went dry. Obediently another shuffled step, my gaze moving from the outlined man to the very still woman lying in a puddle of black liquid at his feet. Without knowing it I moved forward of my own volition until the sun was out of my eyes and I could see clearly her throat had been slit with the clean precision of a master.  
"Why is she dead, little mouse?" he queried in a graveled voice.  
I looked away from the corpse at the man who was now visible. His face was deeply weathered and heavily scarred, making the mint green of his eyes all the more startling. His legs were spread and elbows resting on his knees, comfortable yet in a position to move quickly. We studied each other for a long time, me surmising the man was well past forty and though he could be violent had no desire for it. It was just his job.  
I licked my lips, ignoring the stench of piss that was burning my nose.  
"She found out you are an Assassin."  
His unattractive thick lips creased in the barest hints of a smile, though his eyes remained empty.  
"Clever little mouse. I bet you see all sorts of things you shouldn't, don't you?"  
The hairs on the back of my neck were raised, but I fought the urge to tremble before him.  
"Teach me."  
This time, the smile reached his eyes. "Get out."  
I let the pot drop, and fled like a demon was after me.


End file.
